


want to share your mouthful

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e19 Hammer of the Gods, First Time, Fix-it fic, M/M, sam and gabriel introduce lucifer to fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He found your tape.” Sam rubs his hand over his eyes. “I never realized how much he didn’t know. I mean, he’s Lucifer. He’s like, sin incarnate or whatever. But he was so startled. Like the idea of sex had never occurred to him. He was so...prim.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	want to share your mouthful

After the Elysian Fields, there is one day of silence, the Apocalypse holding its breath, and then there is everything. Gone is the careful battle plan they had watched Lucifer unfold, replaced instead by random, mindless chaos; hurricanes sweeping the south Atlantic; unformulated, hungry demon attacks; volcanic eruptions like chain reactions; clouds of dust and ash choking small towns. It's careless, directionless rage, destruction for the sake of destruction. It's far enough out of character for Lucifer that Sam is almost...worried about him. It's an archangel's fury and grief wrapped up into one, and it's terrifying to witness.

Sam expects Lucifer to come for him. There's a feeling in his stomach now, growing ever since Lucifer's gaze had fallen heavily on him in the Elysian Fields Hotel, his eyes bright with hunger. He expects more visits to his dreams, more coaxing, more lecturing about his destiny. _Something_. But there isn't anything for more than a week.

He opens his eyes to a familiar hotel room, and he wonders if Lucifer has been dreaming about this place as much as him. He wonders how long Lucifer had remained here after he'd put his blade through Gabriel, if he'd made himself a drink with his little brother lying on the floor, if he'd wandered upstairs to watch a Lifetime movie on the tv. The tv's on now, and it takes Sam a minute to put together what Lucifer's watching.

"No," he says, breathless with fear, "no, you can't've—"

On the screen, a dead archangel smirks, eyes all light.

"I never lied to you, Sam," Lucifer says. "I never kept any secrets from you. I told you, didn't I? You were made for me, and we weren't made to keep secrets from each other." He sits on the end of the bed, legs crossed beneath him, as if he'd just settled down while Sam slept between the sheets.

"It won't work," he adds abruptly, turning around to look at him before Sam can speak. "This plan with the rings. I won't go back to Hell, Sam, not even for you. Even if you'd kept me from knowing—I wouldn't let you send us there. You'd never be able to make me. And a yes would still be a yes."

He sounds disappointed, more than anything. Not angry, not the vengeful rage Sam has seen him capable of. Just disappointed.

"I don't understand how you could do something like that to yourself," he says, sounding puzzled. "Hell is far, far worse than you could imagine, but I think you of all people could imagine a lot. You'd have thrown yourself down there—and for what?"

Sam's jaw sets. "For _people_ ," he says, "for the _world_ ," and under Lucifer's cool gaze he feels like a petulant child and he hates all of it. "For what Gabriel died for," he spits, and feels cheap satisfaction watching Lucifer's face flinch like he's been struck. They both look away, and Sam stamps down the twinge of guilt that flares in his chest. Lucifer turns back to the tv, while Sam stares at his hands and wonders what it would take to really, truly hurt something like Lucifer.

Lucifer makes a startled noise, then, and Sam looks up.

"This is _perverse_ ," he says, and Sam watches as Gabriel laughs and then moans, riding the woman with shameless abandon.

"It's porn," he says. "That's the point."

"He's an _archangel_ ," Lucifer says, sounding so prim and affronted that Sam almost laughs. "This is—this is debased."

"That's Gabriel," Sam says, shrugging, but he watches, curious at how Lucifer doesn't look away, tongue darting out over his lips in an unconscious move that's so peculiarly human. "Lucifer?" he says in a dry whisper, and Lucifer jerks, turns back to look at him with an unexpected, unfamiliar, undefinable expression—

The dream melts away, and Sam wakes with a shock. His own bed, the motel he'd gone to sleep in. In the next bed over, Dean snores and rolls over.

 

 

"We need him back," Sam says, over a greasy diner breakfast. "Gabriel, I mean."

Dean lifts his eyebrows. "Not that I'm not grateful for what he did and everything, but the guy's dead. Stabbed with an archangel blade and everything."

"I think we need him," Sam says. "I don't know how to get him back. But I think we need him."

 

 

"He was part pagan, at the end," Sam says from where he's sitting cross-legged on Bobby's floor, flanked by worn books on all sides. "Maybe there's something in that. He was Loki for long enough, maybe there was enough in that still left for—something."

"Maybe," Bobby allows. He and Dean are still more than a little skeptical about this new plan of Sam's, but at this point, there's not much of an alternative. Dean is still putting in a half-hearted effort to find Pestilence, but now that Lucifer knows about it, neither of them are hopeful about it.

In the next book, Sam finds a woodcut of Gabriel, shining and proud, carrying his trumpet. He looks nothing like the vessel Gabriel had worn when Sam knew him, but there's a similarity about the eyes, a mischievousness in the smile. He’s naked, but instead of the smooth, Ken doll parts Sam usually sees in these Biblical drawings, the artist had gone for realism, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. It's...appropriate, he finds, appropriate to the Gabriel he'd known, like the artist had seen something of the pagan in him even then. Early Biblical porn. He wonders if Gabriel had posed for it himself.

He misses Gabriel. He hasn't grieved, won't allow himself to grieve, because that would mean admitting Gabriel was gone. Before—before everything, it’s not like he had liked Gabriel, not like he had felt anything but hatred for the Trickster. Except now there’s a hole in the world where an archangel once walked, and he can feel it in his bones.

He wonders if he’d feel like this if it had been Lucifer. If Lucifer had died instead of Gabriel. He wonders what it would feel like then.

 

 

The ritual requires blood, and lots of it.

It’s a corrupted form of a pagan summoning, designed to nearly kill the summoner, and Sam is pale and dizzy, almost giddy with blood loss. He makes the next cut, watches with detached interest as the blood trickles down his arm and into the bowl. It’s funny, that it should be like this, Sam, with his tainted blood. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes that he registers only dimly.

Dean drops a match into the bowl and it flares up, impossibly bright flames, the heat good on Sam’s face. Dark shapes coalesce in the chalk circle, shadows pulling away from the walls, a thick, hazy blackness growing slowly. He has enough time to think— _is it going wrong_ and _will he want this_ before—

Gabriel chokes and coughs and then screams, a piercing, awful sound, a wounded bird’s shriek. It goes on and it goes on until Sam thinks he might die from it. And then he doesn’t move, lies in a crumpled heap, shuddering and shuddering.

He convulses once when Sam lays an unsteady, tentative hand on his shoulder, kneeling next to him. His shirt is bloody all down the front, a ragged hole ripped in the middle. “Gabriel,” he says, mouth dry, and then jerks in shock when a hand shoots out to grab him by the wrist. Gabriel’s little fingers are strong, and he grips Sam’s wrist like iron, crushing his bones together until Sam gasps.

“Sam?” Gabriel whispers, his eyes bright. And then his eyes roll back in his head, his grip releases, and he lies still.

 

 

Gabriel doesn’t thank them for resurrecting him. He claims an upstairs room in Bobby’s house and quietly spirits away blankets from all over the house to make a nest, including Sam’s favorite quilt. Sam isn’t sure whether to laugh or what. Sam brings him sandwiches, which he eats reluctantly, leaving the plates outside his door.

This goes on for a week before Sam gets fed up.

“Fuck off,” Gabriel says without looking around, when Sam opens his door.

Sam sits gingerly down next to him.

“I didn’t ask you for this,” Gabriel says abruptly, “I didn’t _ask_ for this. I got _stabbed_ for you, don’t think you’ve even begun repaying that debt. Don’t expect me to roll over on my back in gratitude.”

Sam doesn’t mean to ask it, but he does. “What was it like?”

Gabriel finally turns to look at him, disbelief on his face. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Sorry,” Sam says, but Gabriel doesn’t look away.

“You think you’ll say yes,” he says. “And you think Michael will kill you.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “God, this is good. You want to know what it feels like to be stabbed with an archangel’s blade? It’s like someone driving a nuclear bomb through your chest. It burns every cell of you, tears apart every molecule in your body. It’s the worst agony you can possibly imagine. And then it’s gone, and so are you.” He looks back out the window, impassive. “You’ll feel every inch of it. You don’t know what it’s like to be an angel’s vessel, much less Lucifer’s. He won’t burn you out, he’ll hold as tight to you as he can. If you understand Lucifer at all, you should know that by now. He thinks you belong to him. And what he has, he keeps.”

Gabriel’s curled into himself even further, the blanket pulled around his shoulders held tight in white knuckles. God, but it’s sad. Sam knows this is a bad idea, but he reaches out anyway, letting his arm drape across Gabriel’s shoulders. Gabriel freezes.

“Sam,” he says. “You can’t do this.”

“We need you,” Sam says.

“He _killed_ me.”

“He doesn’t understand. About humanity, I mean. It’s not what he expected, and he’s confused.” Sam takes a breath. “He um. He knows about porn now.”

The look Gabriel gives him is mingled incredulity and dawning horror. “He didn’t.”

“He found your tape.” Sam rubs his hand over his eyes. “I never realized how much he didn’t know. I mean, he’s Lucifer. He’s like, sin incarnate or whatever. But he was so startled. Like the idea of sex had never occurred to him. He was so...prim.”

Gabriel turns suddenly to face him. “Are you going to let him fuck you?”

“Jesus!” Sam says. “No. No.”

“But you’ve thought about it.” Gabriel’s gaze is burning and intense, pinning him there. “You know what it’s like, being in his presence. Don’t try to tell me you don’t. He makes you want to fall on your knees for him, doesn’t he?”

Sam’s face is hot. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Gabriel laughs. “I think the shock of it might kill him, though. I don’t think you have any idea how deep his obsession runs. He’d pull the stars down from the sky for you, Sam.”

“Great,” Sam says. “Maybe he can not destroy the world for me. God, can angels even have sex?”

Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows. “You want a demo?”

“No,” Sam says firmly. “Anyway, you can sleep with him if you’re so sure it’ll make a difference.”

“Haven’t I done enough for you already?” Gabriel complains.

 

 

An old Twilight Zone episode plays on the tv while Gabriel lies sprawled out on the couch.

“Pass me the whiskey,” he demands, waving a hand at Sam. They’d left Gabriel at Bobby’s while they followed up on some demon activity a few towns over, and Sam thinks he might have literally started to shrivel up from lack of attention.

The bottle didn’t start out full, but it’s significantly emptier now. Sam takes another slug before handing it over.

“Didn’t even know you guys could get drunk,” he says. Gabriel snorts.

“Pagan god, remember,” he says, gesturing at himself. “The ability to get plastered is kind of a priority in those circles. You should have seen some of the parties we had in the old days. Then again.” He looks at Sam. “No.”

“I wish I could have seen you then,” Sam says, the whiskey making his tongue loose. “Seen you like that.”

Gabriel doesn’t answer for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, kiddo,” he says eventually. “You wouldn’t have liked it. You wouldn’t have liked the things I did.”

Sam lies back on the floor, crossing his arms beneath his head. “Did you defile virgins?”

“Stop obsessing about angel fucking.”

“I’m not obsessing.” Sam tries not to sound too defensive.

Gabriel leans over the edge of the couch to peer at him, bangs falling into his eyes, and something jumps in Sam’s stomach. “If you want to ask me, ask me.”

“I don’t,” Sam says, and then Gabriel’s scooching over the side of the couch, moving to straddle Sam’s hips. Sam takes a breath in, wide-eyed.

“I’ve been around a long time, Sam,” he says. “There’s nothing I haven’t done by now.” He reaches out, running fingers through a lock of Sam’s hair.

“Gabriel,” Sam says carefully.

“You want to be worshiped,” Gabriel says, stroking Sam’s jaw, and Sam shivers in spite of himself. “You’re like Lucifer in that way. I won’t do that, Sam, I won’t worship you.” His voice is cold and flat, and it belongs to the ancient being that Sam knows is in there. “I’ll fuck you if you want, but I won’t worship you.”

“I don’t want you to worship me,” Sam says, and Gabriel shakes his head.

“You want an altar. You want to be touched like a sacrament. Look at me,” he says, and turns Sam’s chin back to face him. “Ask Lucifer. Let him own you, and he’ll worship you. He’ll make the whole world kneel for you.” His hands are flat on the floor; he’s bent nearly double over Sam, his breath warm against Sam’s face.

“What about you?” Sam asks, knowing as he does what a terrible idea it is to bait an archangel. “Would you kneel, if Lucifer told you to?”

Gabriel’s eyes go even colder, and then furiously hot. His fingers dig into the carpet. “I take it back. I would have had you see me as Loki. I would have had you fall to your knees before me, I would have had you _beg_ me.” His face is alight with a terrible kind of glory. “You are not Lucifer, _boy_.”

His mouth is inches from Sam’s, and Sam’s breath comes heavy and fast.

“Let me up,” Sam says, and Gabriel leans back slowly, exhaling. He rolls off Sam, but neither of them make a move to stand, lying beside each other on the carpet.

“You don’t want to lose him,” Sam says after several long, quiet minutes.

“I lost my brother a long time ago.”

“He’s not gone yet.” Sam swallows heavily. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“He won’t hurt you,” Gabriel says. “He could never. But you have to show him.”

“I can’t,” Sam says. “Gabriel, I _can’t_.”

“He can have you without violating you. Show him what it’s like to be human. You want him, Sam, don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

“Not alone,” Sam says. “Gabriel. Don’t make me do it alone.”

Gabriel turns over, props himself up on his elbows and looks away. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” When Sam just looks at him, he runs a rough hand through his hair and lets out a harsh breath. “You won’t want me there. _Lucifer_ won’t want me there.”

“Oh, who gives a _shit_ what Lucifer wants,” Sam snaps. “Someone ask me what I want.”

“What do you want, kiddo?” Gabriel asks, his face abruptly closer to Sam’s again.

“I want you,” Sam says.

 

 

Sam lets Gabriel be the one to undress him, alone in a quiet motel room. Both their skin prickles with the thought of _Lucifer_ , Lightbringer, Morningstar, Adversary. Gabriel draws his shirt over his head, and Sam shivers at cool air brushing his bare skin. He closes his eyes as Gabriel undoes his jeans and slides them carefully down and off.

It’s too weird, feels too much like they’re performing some obscure ritual, making some dark sacrifice, except that _he’s_ the sacrifice. Waiting for Lucifer to fall upon him and devour him. The thought sends a perverse thrill through him.

“Tell me you’re sure,” Gabriel says, voice suddenly too loud in the empty room. One of his hands rests lightly on Sam’s thigh.

“It’s alright,” Sam says, and Gabriel smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead.

“He’ll come if you ask him,” he says. “You just have to ask him.”

Sam closes his eyes.

There’s a sense of a gathering pressure outside the door, an oncoming storm. Thunder rolls. And the door opens.

Something in Sam’s chest loosens, like every other time Lucifer’s come for him. He still crackles with the same energy he’d had at the Elysian Fields Hotel. Like the fury of an archangel trying to escape through his skin, not quite reined it. His gaze meets Sam’s, and for a moment Sam can’t say anything.

Gabriel snorts. “Always have to make a dramatic entrance, don’t you?”

Lucifer’s eyes flick to him, and his face is carefully, perfectly composed. “Gabriel,” he says. “Explain. Quickly.”

“Lucifer,” Sam says, finding his voice at last, his breath a little shorter than he’d like. Lucifer turns back to him, gaze sliding down his body, making Sam’s cheeks flush.

“What is this?” Lucifer says, head tilted, looking puzzled. “Why did you call me here?”

“If you want to burn everything,” Gabriel says quietly, a hand on Lucifer’s back, nudging him forward, “there are things you need to know first.”

Lucifer’s gone very still, drifting toward Sam almost on automatic. He freezes only a few inches from Sam.

“No,” he says. “This isn’t—this is depraved, it’s grotesque. _Sam_ ,” he says, sounding bewildered.

Sam looks up at him from where he’s kneeling on the bed. He takes in a long, slow breath, and exhales. He’s never felt more self-conscious in his life, with an archangel looking at him with such an expression of worry. “You want me to say yes,” he says. “You want me to let you use my body. You’re going to do this for me first.”

“He’s your vessel,” Gabriel says, pushing Lucifer forward until he crosses the gap, resting one hand against Sam’s neck. “He was made for you. Kiss him.”

Lucifer’s lips are soft, gentle; his kiss is tentative. He pulls back too soon to gaze at Sam, cupping his face in one hand, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. He still looks nervous and uncertain, like a small child, and Sam closes his eyes and sighs before drawing back, scooching back up on the bed and pulling Lucifer with him. Gabriel elbows him until Lucifer’s kneeling over Sam, peering down at him, with that bird-like look of curiosity.

“Can I—” Lucifer starts to say, and bites his lip.

“Touch him already,” Gabriel says, perching by Sam’s side, and Sam gives Lucifer an encouraging nod. “You won’t hurt him.”

Lucifer runs light hands down Sam’s chest, before pausing and laying one hand over Sam’s heart. He leans in close, breath warm against Sam’s skin, resting his ear against Sam’s heart and listening to it beat, before pressing his lips to it. He traces the muscles of Sam’s biceps, lifting one arm and turning it over, stroking his fingertips down it, pressing another kiss to the delicate bones of his wrist, harder this time. He noses at the hollow of Sam’s throat, inhales deep like he’s savoring it.

“I want,” he says, “I want, Sam, can I—” He wrestles with his shirt abruptly, pushing off his overshirt and tugging his t-shirt roughly over his head, before bending back down, pressing his chest against Sam’s and resting his head against Sam’s neck. “You, I need to feel your skin on mine.”

Lucifer sounds so startled at the admission that Sam smiles before wrapping one arm around Lucifer, stroking one hand down his back, fingering his spine.

“Let me,” Gabriel says, reaching down to unzip Lucifer’s jeans and tug them down his hips with his underwear.

Lucifer naked is beautiful, is glorious. He moves back down the bed to nuzzle at Sam’s stomach, stroking his sides. Sam twitches when Lucifer’s fingers find ticklish places, protests when Lucifer makes a pleased, intrigued sound at his discovery and digs his fingers in. 

It’s like he’s being cataloged. It’s so different from being touched by another human, like it’s all entirely unfamiliar to Lucifer, like he’d never bothered to consider how human bodies worked before. Like he’d never even considered his own vessel, the flesh he wears now. He moves back to Sam’s feet, lifting one up and setting it on his thigh and working his thumbs over the bones with the utmost concentration. “Here,” Gabriel says, and moves his hands up to push Sam’s thighs apart. Lucifer kneels between his spread legs and looks up at Sam.

“This is alright?” he says, drawing one thumb in little circles on Sam’s hip, and Sam nods.

“Keep going,” he says, licking his lips as Lucifer strokes his fingertips along Sam’s inner thighs before drawing them through the hair nestling his cock. He hums in fascination when Sam pushes back into his touch, stroking his cock experimentally. Sam makes a little noise of pleasure, and Lucifer looks pleased.

“You’re so...responsive,” he says. “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Yes,” Sam says, “ _Lucifer_ ,” and Lucifer bends down obligingly. He’s more confident now, rougher, more determined to feel as much sensation as he can, licking Sam’s mouth open, leaving his lips bruised.

“I like hearing you say my name,” he says, and Gabriel laughs. Lucifer gives a loose, easy roll of his hips, his cock between Sam’s thighs, and bites off a surprised sound. “ _Oh,_ ” he says, and does it again, rutting down against Sam, and Sam laughs and pushes back. The constant contact, Lucifer’s hands all over him, tracing over his lips, clutching at one shoulder, running down his chest—it’s electricity, it’s fire.

Sam glances at Gabriel then; his eyes are on Lucifer, tongue just peeking out between his lips. He imagines how the two of them must look right now, both hard, Lucifer’s arms around him while Sam’s breath comes short and heavy. These two creatures of infinite power and fury kneeling over him, touching him, watching him—it’s not what he expected from the End of Days.

“Give me your hand,” Gabriel tells Lucifer, slicking his fingers. Sam watches Gabriel guide Lucifer’s hand down, drops his head back against the pillows when he feels the pad of one thumb pressing curiously against the pucker of his hole. He makes a little noise when Lucifer pushes a slippery finger in past the ring of muscle, and Lucifer looks up at him.

“Keep going,” Sam tells him again. Lucifer’s hands are big, the reach of his fingers deep, and Sam lets out another stifled moan when Lucifer crooks the finger experimentally, his hips pushing back on instinct. This, this is terrifyingly intimate, and God, it’s better than he could ever have imagined, to have this beautiful, awful presence curling around him and pressing inside him. “God, _Lucifer_.”

Lucifer takes exaggerated care when he works Sam open, Gabriel’s smaller fingers guiding him, teasing. The Devil’s touch is soft and tender in a way Sam had never expected it to be. A thumb strokes against his perineum; another finger teases and cradles the soft weight of his balls. Sam fucks himself on Lucifer and Gabriel’s fingers, writhes against the sheets when Lucifer presses little nipping kisses against his inner thighs, stubble scratching deliciously against his skin. Christ, but he’s so hard it hurts.

“Lucifer,” Sam says, “Lucifer, Lucifer—”

“Tell me what you want,” Lucifer says, peering up at him from between Sam’s spread knees.

“Kiss me,” Sam demands, and Lucifer scoots up obligingly, straddling Sam’s waist and cupping Sam’s face in both hands. He traces his thumb over Sam’s lower lip, strokes his hair with the other hand before bending down to kiss him, soft until Sam opens his mouth, skews it into something harder— “Like you mean it,” Sam says—and Lucifer can be fierce too, licking into his mouth, a kiss like a claim.

“Hmmm,” Gabriel says consideringly, and presses two fingers back into Sam, scissoring them inside him, laughing when Sam squirms and groans underneath Lucifer.

It’s altogether too much, both their hands on him, and he’s so close to the edge he might scream. Lucifer thrusts down, his cock against Sam’s, and presses his face into Sam’s neck, inhaling long and deep, rolling his hips and grinding his cock against Sam’s like all he needs is friction.

It doesn’t take much more before Lucifer is spilling hot across Sam’s stomach, and the look on his face and the feel of Lucifer’s come on his skin is all it takes to tip him over too.

When he comes back to himself Lucifer is pressed close against his side, one arm slung over his waist to pull him in. Gabriel watches them with a look of immense fondness. Sam looks at him and he raises his eyebrows.

“Come here,” Sam says and pulls him in by the waist when he wriggles closer. He kisses Gabriel soft and gentle, and Gabriel sighs and melts into it.

“Gabriel,” Lucifer murmurs, voice low and rough, and Gabriel makes the most startled noise pulls him down into a kiss of his own. “Thank you,” Lucifer whispers into his skin, nosing against his neck.

Like two birds, Sam thinks, watching them, Gabriel perched on Lucifer’s hips, Lucifer breathing him in, Gabriel running a hand through Lucifer’s hair. Like family.

**Author's Note:**

> well this took a long time
> 
> i tend to go back and forth between lucifer as super uncomfortable and virginal and lucifer as a fucking sex god because i am not good at consistency! thats me. both are my children.


End file.
